


Never Enough

by blue_jack



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Arthur likes to listen to every filthy word that comes out of Eames' mouth—and Eames is inventive, his use of obscenities truly impressive—likes to hear his voice breaking as he begs so prettily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suddenlyswept](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suddenlyswept/gifts).



> So this is more, IDK, porn practice than porn itself, but whatever. It’s the first bit of porn I’ve written in MONTHS, so it counts. >_>
> 
> For suddenlyswept. Happy early birthday, bb!
> 
> Thanks to caitri for the kinda, sorta beta. ;)

Sometimes, Arthur likes to listen to every filthy word that comes out of Eames' mouth—and Eames is inventive, his use of obscenities truly impressive—likes to hear his voice breaking as he begs so prettily.

Today though, today is all about denial, and he doesn't give Eames even that much release. He's denying himself, too, because with the gag, he can't fuck Eames' mouth, and what a sight that is, lips swollen and shiny and red, eyelashes fluttering as Eames takes him deeper, because there's nothing that gets to Eames faster than a rough blowjob.

This is just as satisfying though, Eames fucking himself on Arthur's cock, so desperate, like he really believes Arthur will let him come sooner if he does a good job of it. Eames _always_ does a good job of it, and Arthur tells him so, savoring the way Eames shudders at the praise. Eames has never been one to accept compliments easily, and when they're working, he'll brush off anything positive Arthur has to say with an insult of his own. But when it's just the two of them, when Arthur has his complete and undivided attention and there's nowhere for him to run, then Arthur gives himself free reign to say anything and everything he wanted to say before and watches Eames come part like each word of approval is a weapon instead of something freely and sincerely given.

He wonders about it, but it’s not like they have that kind of relationship. Arthur wants to, hell, he wants Eames any way he can get him, but Eames made the lines clear early on, and there’s no getting around them.

Not yet anyway.

He’s careful to keep it light as his fingers brush over Eames' legs, quivering with the strain of riding him, lets them travel up and up in barely there caresses. What he really wants is to grab Eames’ hips, dig his fingers in and pull him down while he thrusts up, wants to count the bruises with his tongue after it’s all over. But it’s all about control, control, and it’s a mantra in his head, that Eames is depending on him, and he’s not going to fail him, not in this.

He only changes the tenor of his touches when he reaches Eames’ nipples, presses against them, lets his nails drag across as Eames moves up and down, and the rhythm stutters then as Eames makes an almost pained sound in his throat.

Arthur loves Eames’ nipples a ridiculous amount. He’s never met a man as responsive as Eames is, and it’s something of an obsession now, he admits. If Arthur hadn’t bound Eames’ wrists together behind his back, he’d be fighting him, would grab his hands and try to direct them somewhere else, although when has Arthur ever let himself get distracted from his goal? Eames would try though, would say he’s surprised by how bad Arthur is at this, that Eames wants to be _fucked_ , wants to limp for days, and at this rate, he’ll have to find someone else if Arthur is so completely and utterly hopeless at it.

It’s another reason that he gagged him to be honest, because Arthur was never the jealous type before, but he is now, and the thought of Eames with anyone else is . . . is . . .

He has to wrench his thoughts away from that path, lets his fingers scrape harder than they should while his hips surge up, and Eames writhes on his lap, back bowing, his trapped voice excruciatingly expressive.

So he puts the gag on him for many reasons. His favorite, however, is whenever he wants to test just how sensitive Eames really is.

He tied him down once, didn’t touch him anywhere except on his chest, spent over an hour playing to his heart’s content while Eames twisted on the bed, until the sounds he was making were hoarse and pleading and there were streaks of precome painting his abdomen and sides. He’d hoped to make Eames orgasm from nipple stimulation alone, but he couldn’t see the result as a failure all things considered. And there’s always next time after all.

Eames’ nipples are already attractively flushed and hard from the little he’s done to them, and he'd like nothing more than to sit up and bring his lips and teeth into play, to suck and wring more of those exquisite noises from Eames while he clenches around him because he just can't help himself. It’s with real regret that he moves his hands down, Eames’ shoulders slumping slightly in relief. He should know Arthur better than that by now. The next time Eames lifts up, Arthur pulls out completely, the air remarkably cold against his wet skin. His dismay is nothing in comparison to Eames’ however, and he makes a shocked cry, even as he pushes his hips back like he’s trying to impale himself on Arthur’s cock, although the angle’s all wrong and Arthur’s hands are urging him forward.

Not that it’s easy for Arthur, fuck no. It’s almost hypnotic watching Eames in motion, so much strength and power at his fingertips. Add to that the addicting heat and friction, and it’s almost impossible to not give in to what they both want. But the point isn’t to show Eames a good time. Anyone can do that. The point is to break him apart so completely that when he comes back together again, he’s still got Arthur all over him, so that Eames just can’t walk away from him like he’s done in the past with other people because every inch of him remembers what it feels like under Arthur’s hands. He wants that, and he's going to get it, however long it takes him to succeed.

Eames glances down at him then, like he knows Arthur is planning something nefarious, and he loves that lost look in his eyes as he struggles for coherent thought, loves that he's confused and hazy for a moment instead of watching and calculating all the odds. He loves the spark of fury that takes its place even more though, because it's a true emotion instead of one of the masks he normally wears. Eames, for all that he gives off the impression of being laid back, is always extremely aware of everything he and other people are doing, of what part he needs to play to get what he wants. Arthur likes to chip away at the facade, enjoys knowing that he gets under Eames' skin just as much as Eames gets under his.

"Come up here," he orders, and Eames could refuse, could knock his shoulder against the headboard three times like they'd agreed upon before getting into bed, could let Arthur untie him and then walk away. He's done it before. Hell, he could probably get out of those handcuffs without Arthur's help at all.

He doesn't though. He keeps Arthur waiting for a minute, eyes challenging although Arthur can see the desire still churning behind the anger, and finally shuffles forward sullenly. It takes a bit of adjusting, and Arthur is sure that knee to his ribs was no accident, but they finally get into position.

He licks from the base of Eames' cock to the very tip, and it's not an apology but Eames apparently accepts it as one, his thighs tensing around Arthur's shoulders as he gives himself over to the sensation. It's a strain on his neck, but Arthur spends a lot of time there, laps up each drop of precome with careless swirls of his tongue until Eames is pushing into his mouth with a choked groan, almost losing his balance in the process.

Arthur reaches up to steady him—he’s so hot, it feels like Eames is burning up—stomach muscles flinching against his palm. It takes a while for Eames to be able to hold himself up, mostly because Arthur’s sucking gently on the head of his cock the whole time. He doesn’t think Eames even realizes the way his hips are twitching as he attempts to push in further, the way he whines in the back of his throat as Arthur denies him, keeping him in place by the pressure of his hand against his torso.

Arthur waits until he’s sure Eames is stable before sliding his lips down his length, ignoring his own erection as much as he can, which isn't much truth be told, especially when Eames makes noises like that. Like he’s going to go mad if Arthur stops touching him.

“Soon,” Arthur promises, licks around the ring that ensures Eames can only come when Arthur has given him permission. Eames whimpers raggedly, because they both know how relative a term that can be. “Soon.”

\-----

It’s probably terrible of him that he enjoys the aftermath of one of their sessions together as much as he does. But there’s nothing like seeing Eames so wrecked, arms and legs limp against the bed as he blinks sluggishly at Arthur, covered in drying sweat and come.

Arthur can do almost anything he wants to Eames in moments like this, so he does, stroking his hair back from his forehead as he wipes his face with a warm washcloth, massaging his arms and laying gentle kisses along the veins.

“Water,” Eames says hoarsely, and Arthur complies, holding a straw to his lips. There’s a questioning, almost suspicious look in Eames’ eyes when they gaze at each other, but he doesn’t say anything else and Arthur knows better than to comment by now.

He sets the glass down and goes back to erasing the traces of their time together from Eames’ body. It still makes him feel faintly resentful—not as much as it used to, but he’s never going to like it—which is why he ignores Eames’ quiet “don’t” and takes his cock into his mouth.

He knows the moment Eames gives in by the way his muscles relax, his legs spreading to give him more room as Arthur works him back to an erection. And when Arthur slips two fingers into him—if he has to clean him up, then he should clean all of him—he spreads them wider still.

Arthur has no intention of teasing this time, sucks and swallows as he feels his own come dripping in hot trails down his fingers. The only moment he pauses is when Eames’ hand settles onto his head, tentatively stroking his hair. He squeezes his eyes closed before resuming and is pathetically grateful when it doesn’t move away.

Eames is completely exhausted after that, sighs and makes no move to leave as Arthur climbs into bed. He falls asleep quickly, and it’s only when Arthur is sure it’s safe does he pull him closer, as if holding Eames tightly enough will make him actually stay the night.


End file.
